


mixing memory and desire

by smallandsleepy



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: F/F, Leftist unity, everyone has a crush on commie, pining nazi, why do I keep deferring to ts eliot for titles when I don't even like him that much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallandsleepy/pseuds/smallandsleepy
Summary: Nazi wishes she had never known Commie.Because maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much.(genderbent)
Relationships: authleft/authright
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	mixing memory and desire

**Author's Note:**

> This was a combination of  
> \- spacetrash_uwu’s idea of everyone crushing on Commie’s domminess :”)  
> \- I saw someone on twitter (I forgot the @) the other day saying they wanted fluff... Ok in my defense this was intended to be fluff  
> \- I wanted to write about Nazi pining

Nazi is living in a house full of degenerates and she is going insane. 

Under Commie’s orders for everyone to pull their weight, they are all in the kitchen together to get ready for dinner. Something is sizzling noisily in the pan, and the space is too small to comfortable fit all four of them, and Nazi is gripping her handful of cutlery so tightly the metal cuts into her skin. 

Because Commie and Ancom are making out against the counter with Nazi still in the room. 

It’s bad enough that they parade around the house with their arms around each other all day, that Nazi has to see Ancom coming out of Commie’s room every morning wearing Commie’s clothes. It’s even worse that Nazi has to hear Commie coo sweet nothings to the stupid anarchist — disgusting, pathetic things that she never thought she would ever hear from her fellow authoritarian. 

It makes her want to wring someone’s neck. 

Preferably Ancom’s. 

Like now. The soup is coming to a boil but the stupid degenerate, holding the ladle lazily in one hand, does not even notice, focusing instead on tugging Commie closer. Commie is more than a head taller, and Nazi can see the flex in her arms as she wraps them around Ancom’s waist and sighs into qir mouth, her hair shifting to reveal the strong curve in her jaw as she leans into the kiss —

Nazi snatches her gaze away and digs her nails into her hand. 

Her jaw is starting to hurt with how much she has been clenching it. She wants to physically tear the fucking leftists apart. But she settles with turning the stove off, grabbing the ladle from Ancom’s hand, and heading out to the dining room to hand the cutlery over to Ancap. 

Ancap, who is leaning against the table, biting her lip, and throwing the leftists hungry, covert looks from under heavy-lidded eyes. 

Nazi wants to fucking scream. 

“You’re pathetic,” she tells Ancap as she slams a few bowls down on the table. 

Reluctantly looking away from Commie and Ancom, Ancap just glances lazily over at Nazi and smirks. 

“And you’re getting pretty emotional.”

Nazi gives an exasperated sigh. She cannot believe she is doing this. She cannot believe she is here at all. 

“You’re just lusting over —”

“Hey, I just think she’s hot, okay? Don’t we all agree on this? Even you used to —”

“Shut up!” Nazi hisses. Heat flushes through her body and surges to her head, and her hands begin to tremble. 

Ancap laughs. 

“Suit yourself. Repressed statist.”

And then Commie and Ancom emerge from the kitchen with pink faces, carrying a pot of stew between them, and Ancap is immediately back to smiling coyly from beneath her eyelashes and making bedroom eyes at Commie. As though the latter even notices, with all her attention fixed on her darling Anarkiddy.

House full of degenerates.

——————————

Nazi has known Commie a lot longer than Ancom has. She has seen sides of Commie that she is sure Ancom would never want to. She has fought against Commie and alongside her, has lived with Commie, and shared beautiful, terrible moments that she can never seem to forget. 

(Unlike Commie. Commie seems to have forgotten.) 

She has —

Has — 

No. 

She wishes she had never known Commie. 

Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much. 

“Spontaneous protests are great for class consciousness,” Commie is saying with her hands thrown up, a strain creeping into her voice. “But you’d need a vanguard for a revolution, Ancom. That’s how it —”

Ancom is looking incensed, qir bat gripped in one hand and qir face flushed scarlet. 

“You just think people are stupid and need your leadersh —”

“No, I —”

“Stop talking over me!” 

Ancom’s voice is getting shriller and shriller, and the awful sound of it ricochets through Nazi’s mind and gives her a headache. Fuck’s sake. The Commie that Nazi knew would never have stood for such bullshit. The Commie that Nazi knew would have shouted the stupid anarchist down, raged against “liberalism” in all its forms — 

But Nazi looks up only to see that the fire in Commie’s eyes is gone. 

That burn in her voice that made her enemies tremble, that hot gaze that Nazi — that Nazi knew and loved — gone. 

Commie just holds up her hands. 

“I’m sorry, Anarkiddy. Yes. You do make good points. I just —”

These days, Nazi barely recognises Commie anymore. 

Which should be just fine, because she does not _need_ Commie — she does not even remotely agree with Commie’s ridiculous Marxist fantasies, and — 

But the Commie that Nazi knew is gone and Nazi wants to wring Ancom’s neck for it. The Commie that Nazi knew is replaced by just another degenerate leftist that she should look forward to be shot of. 

And it feels as though yet another part of Nazi’s world, already muddled up by this stupid modern existence, is being prised away. 

Unable to stand it much longer, she leaves the room, taking care to slam the door as hard as she can behind her. Something cold and empty has settled into her chest. And she wonders why the fuck she feels like she is going to cry. 

——————————

The memories come, slippery and unbidden. They slip through the wall that Nazi has built up between her and the past. They press in upon her, brimming with an old ache, threatening to overflow at every moment. 

All she wants is to forget, but they crowd into the forefront of her mind’s eye and slither into her imagination. 

She remembers lying in bed with Commie’s hands twined in hers, Commie’s breath a gentle dance against her neck. She thinks of Commie’s arms, of being wrapped up in them, curled into the heat of her chest. Commie fingers playing across her skin as she whispers degenerate things into her ear — filthy things that she craves, lovely things that make her hate herself. 

A wall against her back, her teeth digging so hard into her lip she tastes blood, her legs trembling with desire as Commie — 

“Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?” 

Nazi snatches her gaze away and bites her tongue, letting the bloom of pain stop the rushing thoughts. Commie’s eyes are cold and suspicious. 

“I was just wondering,” Nazi says with her jaw clenched, “If you wanted to play Call of Duty.” 

Commie laughs. 

That cold, scornful laugh reserved just for mocking Nazi these days. 

“Your stupid game about imperialist warfare? I’ll pass.” 

——————————

“Stop being so desperate. It’s just pathetic.” 

Nazi is pissed off, as usual. She is spending a lot of her time being pissed off, lately. And this time, it is because Ancom has gone out for one of qir protests, and Nazi has had to watch Ancap trailing after Commie and trying to flirt with her all evening. 

(To no avail whatsoever, at least.) 

Ancap just rolls her eyes at Nazi. 

“Coming from you, huh?”

This, as always, hits closer to home than Nazi would like to admit. 

Forcefully blocking out the tide of weak, foolish feelings that well up inside her, Nazi stands her ground and glares.

“What kind of capitalist are you? Calling yourself a libertarian and mooning after a stuffy, controlling communist, as though she would ever want —”

To Nazi’s fury, Ancap just starts laughing.

“You might be projecting a little,” the capitalist says between giggles. “I just think she’s hot. You’re the one with the feelings.” 

Nazi clenches her fists. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she growls. For fuck’s sake. She had not expected much of this shitty modern existence, but it is testing her limits every fucking day. Honestly, fuck anarchists. They are all the same. Lewd, useless, and much too fucking loud. 

“Suit yourself,” Ancap smirks. “You can always give me more details.”

Nazi has to bite down on her tongue to stop herself from reacting in a way she knows she will regret, but she cannot stop the flush that spreads traitorously across her face. 

“Learn to take a joke, Nazi,” Ancap sighs exasperatedly. “You know, maybe you should be the one to get over it. How long has it been?” 

Nazi hates how she cannot even meet Ancap’s gaze. 

Something thick and painful is gathering at the base of her throat, throbbing dully through her chest. Suddenly, it is fucking difficult to even fucking speak, and when she finally does, her voice is hoarser than usual, cracking straight down the middle. 

Like something broken. Like something dirty and embarrassing and pathetic. 

“Just shut up, Ancap,” she mutters. “Shut the fuck up for once.” 

She turns away. 

She doesn't know what kind of foolish expression must be written all over her face. And she most certainly does not want Ancap to see it. 

———————

The Centricide is an actual joke. 

Ancom, the useless degenerate, has fucked off to god-knows-where after just their very first mission. 

And then Ancap left as well, in a storm of melodramatic righteousness after Nazi and Commie had finally had a go at her. (That, at least, felt pretty good.) 

And now, Nazi and Commie are alone again, in Ancap’s big empty house. 

And Commie is six feet away from her on the other side of the table with a glass of vodka beside her and her head in her hands, sulking over Ancom like she has for the past three days, and no one is speaking, and it all feels so _wrong_ that Nazi wants to crawl out of her skin. 

———————

“I just feel like — like I don’t know who I am without — without —”

“Fuck’s sake, Commie. This display of weakness is disgusting.” 

Commie looks up at her, eyes wide and bloodshot. 

“Qi brought out the best in me, Nazi,” she sniffs. “So why —” She hiccups and bites her lip over a sob. “Why am I never a good enough person for quem?” 

Nazi cannot believe she is fucking having this conversation. 

“When did you ever care about that?” she scoffs. 

“You don’t understand, Nazi. You —”

A curl of resentment licks through Nazi’s insides and she balls her fists. 

“Get a grip, Commie. You’ve let the anarchist push you around too long. I don’t know you anymore.” 

And then Commie is crying. 

Just like that, the anger drains slowly out of Nazi. Now, all she feels is numb and hopeless. 

She sits down next to Commie and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” she says, slightly more softly. 

She has never really seen Commie cry, and she wishes she doesn't have to. It makes her reach over and put her hand on Commie’s shoulder again, if only to get her to look up at her again, speak to her. God, she wants to pull Commie against her, where she belongs, until she forgets about Ancom and everything can stop feeling so out of place. She wants to —

Commie’s head droops slowly onto her shoulder, warm and damp and heavy. 

Nazi’s whole body stills. 

“You used to bring out the worst of me, Nazi.’ Commie whispers, voice cracking. “But I loved it. You remember, right? Back then. Back when — when we used to —” 

She twists to look up at Nazi, her eyes are alight with a strange look that Nazi has never quite seen before. Nazi swallows. Staring into Commie’s glimmering, bloodshot eyes, Nazi feels her throat close up. Her chest is tight and painful. 

Everything just hurts. 

And then Commie’s arms are around her shoulders and they are kissing. 

Commie’s kiss is hot and slow and bitter with alcohol. She presses up against Nazi and their teeth click together, and it is wet and degenerate and all Nazi wants is more. 

Nazi’s body reacts as though it was just yesterday. Heat throbs through her chest and tingles down her spine. Before she knows it, she is tugging Commie’s shoulders toward her and pulling her closer. It is ridiculous, frankly, how after all this time, the same person can still make her feel so — so — 

Commie presses her back into the sofa, hands tangling in her hair, and Nazi has to bite into her lip to stop the needy whimper that bubbles its way up her chest. 

She places her hands against Commie’s shoulder and pushes her away. Commie whines and leans in again, trying to climb on top of her, and the weight of her body presses so deliciously against Nazi’s it is difficult to breathe. 

With all the strength left in her, Nazi extracts herself from her arms and gets shakily to her feet. 

“You need to get to bed.” Her voice, at least, is steady. “You’re fucking drunk. You will —” And then her traitorous voice cracks. “You have no idea what you’re doing.” 

Steeling herself, she wraps an arm around Commie’s waist, pulls her up, and begins to lead her to her room. Commie leans into her, her hair falling across her face. She smells like alcohol, salt, and tears. 

In Commie’s room, she has the other woman lie down, and tugs the sheets up to cover her, as though tucking a child in. 

She is turning to leave when Commie’s stops her again. 

“Nazi?” 

Her voice is small. Nazi has never quite heard her like that before. Small and sad and wanting. 

“Nazi, can you — can –”

She has scooted in closer to the wall, her hand gesturing vaguely at the empty space next to her on the bed. Her body is curled into herself, her eyes red-rimmed, her expression open and vulnerable the way Nazi has not seen since — 

Something wet and painful unfurls through Nazi’s chest, spreading tingles all the way to her fingertips. 

As though watching herself in the third person, she climbs into Commie’s bed and lies down next to her, body stiff as a board. 

Commie curls into her side, settles her head against her shoulder and twines an arm against her waist. Nazi can feel the dampness of her cheek, the warmth of her touch. Her skin burns where Commie touches her, hot and bright like lava. Her chest hurts, and she wonders if Commie can feel her heart pounding. 

The seconds tick by like incense. Like a promise, breathlessly drawn out. 

Nazi lies awake, still as ice, for what feels like hours, listening to her own blood race through her ears. Feeling too afraid to even breathe. As though any movement would kill the moment, wake the dream. 

———————

She awakes to the warm weight of Commie on top of her, Commie trailing hot kisses across her neck. 

Desire pools in her gut in a long, slow twist.

Commie’s skin is breathlessly warm against hers, her mouth wet and open, and god – it feels just like before again. Like those delicious times all those years ago. Those mornings that she and Commie would spend tangled up together, wrapped so deliciously together she could no longer tell where her body ended and Commie’s began. 

Shifting beneath Commie, she reluctantly blinks her eyes open. Commie stills, staring down into her with a wide, searching gaze. A hand comes up and cups Nazi’s face, thumb grazing her cheekbone. 

Nazi’s breath catches in her throat. 

“Nazi.” Commie’s voice is slightly hoarse. “Nazi, it’s been — it’s been a long time. I —”

Something seems to waver in her eyes, as though she is unsure again, as though she is going to leave again. A heady rush of desperation burns through Nazi’s chest like fire. 

“Kiss me,” she commands, unable to bear it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she grips Commie’s face hard in her hands, angles it toward her, and presses their mouths together again. 

Commie kisses back, almost immediately, pressing into her and digging her fingers into her skin, and Nazi has to bite back a moan because she feels just like — just like she did before, rough and demanding and wanting. 

“Still so repressed,” Commie murmurs against her lips, breath tickling her face. “I love seeing you like this.” 

A flush of heat blooms in Nazi’s chest and shivers down her spine. She feels hot all over, spiralling out of control. As though unbidden, her legs wrap around Commie’s waist to pull her closer — no, too fast, too needy — and the way Commie smirks against her lips just makes her crave more. 

“What would Ancom say, huh?” she manages to gasp as her mind melts into a hot haze. “If -- if qi knew what you —” 

Commie’s fingernails dig painfully into her hip. She nips at Nazi’s mouth and pushes herself on top of her, panting into her mouth. 

“Shut up, fascist.” 

The familiar steely hardness has crept back into her voice. She bites into Nazi’s lip and draws a whimpering gasp. Nazi arches up into her, pulling herself closer as though she is drowning, and Commie’s kisses just become angrier, her hands rough and desperate against Nazi’s body. 

“You know, we’re not allies, Nazi. Not like before. Never. Never agai—”

Her voice burns through something deep inside Nazi, something old and painful and tight.

“I hate you too,” she chokes out, as Commie sucks a bruise into her neck and slips a knee between her thighs. “I hate you too.” As though saying it out loud would make her believe it. 

“I hate you. I hate you. I – _oh, Commie_ —”

**Author's Note:**

> On a slightly more serious note, someone asked me why I only write f/f or genderbent fics when it’s nsfw. This isn't true because I do have a non-nsfw genderbent fic (not including this), but I do see where they’re coming from since all my nsfw fics are genderbent. So juuust in case anyone else might have similar concerns, I wanna say that it’s not a fetish thing and I’d hate to come across as fetishising f/f relationships, especially since I'm a wlw myself... I just feel more personally comfortable writing nsfw stuff without men. (Also I deadass suck at writing m/m smut lol)


End file.
